


Toast and Butter

by Chromi



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depths threatened me until I said I'd upload it here;;;, Other, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The Author Regrets Everything, Toast AU, Yes Really, as a joke obviously, listen an anon on tumblr said they would read toast!ace and butter!deuce if i wrote it, so naturally i... wrote it, this is the stupidest thing i've ever produced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: He had waited all his life for this moment. A moment that he had started to doubt would ever come, seeing as he was… well… not exactly the most desired of slices.Rumor had it – and rumor had unfortunately proven to be truth – that the crusts, the heels, the toppers, the bumper, whatever you wanted to call the end slices of all good loaves… they were destined for the garbage can. Sad, really, that their Gods didn’t see them fit for purpose, most of the time. Oh, there were the odd occasions where one may be merciful and begrudgingly whip out one lucky crust piece of bread to munch on when all his brothers were gone, complaining ever the while that the crust was dry, or gross, or just not right.And Ace the crust – the first crust, he might add with a touch too much pride – was one such lucky piece of bread.
Relationships: Masked Deuce & Portgas D. Ace, Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Toast and Butter

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the Galaxy Brained anon on tumblr who sent me the following message and prompted this insanity: "I just want you to know that you could write an alternate universe fanfic where Ace was a slice of toast while Deuce was the butter and I would still love it."
> 
> Well, here you go, dearest anon... here you go...

He had waited all his life for this moment. A moment that he had started to doubt would ever come, seeing as he was… well… not exactly the most desired of slices.

Rumor had it – and rumor had unfortunately proven to be truth – that the crusts, the heels, the toppers, the bumper, whatever you wanted to call the end slices of all good loaves… they were destined for the garbage can. Sad, really, that their Gods didn’t see them fit for purpose, most of the time. Oh, there were the odd occasions where one may be merciful and begrudgingly whip out one lucky crust piece of bread to munch on when all his brothers were gone, complaining ever the while that the crust was _dry_ , or _gross_ , or just not _right_.

And Ace the crust – the _first_ crust, he might add with a touch too much pride – was one such lucky piece of bread.

As he was whipped from the bag that had homed him and the rest of his loaf siblings, he bade the other crust goodbye with excitement bubbling up from within him. Oh, he was on his way! He was finally, at long last, not only going to fulfil his life’s purpose, but he was going to meet his Fated One.

All bread came from the oven quivering with this instinctual pull for their Fated Ones. It was like a force of nature that couldn’t be reckoned with, this drive, this desire, for their other parts to find them. Some breads went on to only have one Fated One – perhaps butter, or marmalade, or pate, who knew – while others met many of them, becoming a bulging sandwich or a burger, perhaps. _They_ were the ones who were deemed luckiest, seen by all the others who were left behind to wait patiently as the slices, the rolls, the buns, who had achieved the highest honor as bread.

But not Ace. On dropping into the wire rack of the silver toaster, his one tiny selfish little desire seemed to be becoming more and more likely.

For Ace the crust didn’t want to be a sandwich. Ace didn’t need many, or lots, or volume – Ace needed… just one. Just one other to make him complete. He was a granary crust, speckled full of grains and chopped sunflower seeds; an already filling and interesting loaf crust, if he did say so himself. He didn’t need the grandeur of fillings and mayo and whatever else their Gods may decide to unite him with (although he would be ever so grateful if they _did_ , of course). No – he wanted simplicity, something uncomplicated and solely there for him. A union of two, creating something yummy and filling.

And when his God popped the toaster and turned him around, giving him a brief view of the black granite worktops, the white plate with its silver knife perched on it in anticipation of his arrival, excitement came over him.

For there, beside the gleaming plate, was a little, singular use packet of salted butter, and nothing else.

* * *

He had started to wonder if he would ever accomplish his meaning in life and meet his Destined One.

Life had been slow in the hotel, sitting in a basket among other packs of butter, the occasional marmalade, strawberry, raspberry, and apricot jellies. The butters were in higher demand than most other condiments, thankfully, and he had watched many of his large family plucked up and taken on their merry way in his time.

But he? Deuce the butter somehow got left behind over and over, forever at the bottom of the basket, forever having new brothers and sisters added on top of him, ensuring they were chosen first. Not that he believed their Gods did this on purpose – no, never. A simple oversight; they were busy, he had heard them say many a time, and thus they were understandably not going to arrange for him to be chosen soon.

He had resigned himself to being forever incomplete, a simple, lonely portion of salted butter waiting for eternity for his Destined One but finding himself discarded before he succeeded. It was a lonely little life, never living up to expectations. His father had gone on to be baked into a glorious wedding cake; his closest brother, too. _They_ had been wonderful; _they_ had achieved so much. Whereas he, Deuce, was slated for… who knew.

But then it had all changed! Then, one day, someone had taken him at last! Had taken him back to their table, this blessed God of his that he would undoubtedly love with his entire salty being, and then they had—

—they had bundled him up in a napkin along with some little pots of marmalade, and he had been forgotten about. Again. Something about “may as well, since they’re there” was bandied around by his God, and the sad realisation that he had only been chosen because he was momentarily convenient – a nice little extra to take home and brag about – hit him.

So that became his life – doomed to waiting in the fridge, forever ignored and overlooked in favor of the enormous tub of spreadable butter that lived in the door. What was even the point of him, then, if his God was going to use up her instead? Why was he here? He was as desired as a crust on a seed loaf, he thought bitterly to himself. Even the marmalade that had ridden back in God’s bag with him got used up reasonably quickly – the tub of butter had told him gleefully when she had met the first of them.

Well, good for them!

Good for them…

All he wanted was to meet his Destined One. That’s all that any butter wanted. That, and to be consumed, of course. That was the point of life, after all.

And then one day – at long, long, last – Deuce the butter got his wish.

He could have cheered! He could have screamed! He could have done a triple flip off the surface and fallen to the floor, and he wouldn’t have cared! Because there, in the bag that his God was rummaging in, was his Destined One! He was only big enough for a single slice of bread, he knew full well, so that had always narrowed down his options – but oh, what options they were!

But oh, what a Destined One he was faced with as the granary crust – now toasted – was placed on the plate beside him.

* * *

The unification happened at last, and Ace could not have been happier. He rather suspected his Fated One felt entirely the same, sensing the immense (and almost startling) joy that spread over his crispy surface above the cold sweep of the knife. Salted butter – exactly what he had always hoped for! Exactly who he needed and craved! A simple meal; a quick breakfast; but one that was tasty and one that would fill, helped along by Ace’s smattering of seeds and grains.

It was bliss of the highest order – it was happiness and fulfilment and all manner of sonnets of love and hope given form in the shape of butter melting into him. Ah, to be alive – to be toasted and layered with love of another! His newfound heat from the toaster quickened Deuce’s path into his core, aided and guided him down to become an irreversible process, of two who could no longer be separated however much God may try.

But then hit him something that he had never expected, that no one had ever warned him about. Yes, he had his Fated One – and he learned on addressing him that _he_ called _Ace_ a Destined One. How sweet.

No one had told him – and no in-baked, bready instinct could have known – the profound sadness that came with the realisation that this was it.

He had waited all his life for Deuce, and Deuce had he. They had existed within a mere couple of meters of each other for a vast amount of time in their short, stunted lives without even knowing of the other, of the completeness they would feel when brought together. And now, in the blink of an eye, it was to be over.

What a tragedy. What a Greek play spun wicked into the little lives of the innocent.

But blessedly – miraculously – just as their God – for they were no longer just Ace’s – laid down the knife that had smothered the two together, God was called away by the shriek of the animal it kept as a pet.

The chance to lament their end had come.

“It was always going to be you,” Deuce started without preamble, cutting through Ace’s own hasty words of love and longing, “I knew it would always be you. We’re both the unwanted parts of our kind, aren’t we? You the dry crust; me the useless packet, taken only with greed. No one needs us; no one really wants us.”

“But we want each other,” Ace communicated, feeling far happier than Deuce sounded. They had been blessed with time, had they not? Even if it was mere seconds, or minutes, that they had to convey a whole lifetime of waiting. “We got what we spent our lives looking for. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Deuce agreed, even if he didn’t express it. It was a curious sensation, being linked in this way. Being a part of each other so intimately. “I only wish we had a decent amount of time,” he blurted out, “I never thought of what would come after finding you. Not really.”

Ace knew what he meant. The end was always clear – you were either eaten, or you were discarded. No one wanted to be discarded. But the step in between? It had been a gray swirl to them both, a landscape they couldn’t fathom. Well, now they were here, experiencing it.

“I’m glad I got to find you,” Ace conferred, “I’m glad it ends with you.”

Deuce sounded calmer in his reply. “Perhaps it never really ends. We’ll be absorbed by our God. Together, we’ll nourish something bigger than ourselves. Who’s to say this is where we finish?”

Who, indeed?

A shadow fell over them as their God returned to their task. As they raised their meal to their mouth, Ace and Deuce thought not of love lost and brief, but of what was to come next in their conversion to energy and sustenance.

Everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Extra thanks to Depths for yelling at me until I posted, and to Irrelevancy and Depths for their keyboard smashing uwu
> 
> Feel free to fill [my Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) inbox with prompts, nonsense, or anything at all! I love to chat TT
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


End file.
